


A Loyal Man

by Keiko Kirin (sakana17)



Series: A Loyal Man [1]
Category: Wiseguy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1994-09-15
Updated: 1994-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-03 18:38:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakana17/pseuds/Keiko%20Kirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emotional (and otherwise) blackmail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Loyal Man

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the printed zine "McPikus Interruptus 4." Thanks to Kenna, Gayle, and Tashery for feedback and encouragement.

The bar was dimly lit, all polished brass, wood, and beveled mirrors. There was a thin haze of smoke despite the fact the place was almost empty. Vinnie paused at the door, wishing Sonny hadn't sent him here. On the one hand, he was glad of the chance to bring down the most powerful mobster on the East Coast -- Paul 'Pat-the-Cat' Patrice -- but on the other hand, he didn't like this game Sonny was playing. It was bad enough he had to cozy up to Sonny for the OCB; now he had to cozy up to Patrice for Sonny.

With an air of confidence he didn't really feel, he strode to the bar. Patrice rose from his table in the back and joined him. Pat welcomed him pretty easily, Vinnie noted. Maybe he really was falling for the bait, Vinnie thought, slightly resentful at Sonny for turning him into some juicy mouse to dangle in front of the Cat. Patrice ordered a couple of drinks and raised his glass in a toast.

"Vinnie, you look like a man in a bad marriage."

Vinnie glanced across the bar and gave a short, humorless laugh. So Pat was going to continue with his tired cliche. "Yeah, well, the little woman is getting dumpy and mean," he said, playing along. "I think my eye is beginning to wander."

Patrice smiled. "You spot anything that looks appealing?"

"Hey, let's cut the henhouse metaphors. You know why I'm here."

"Yeah," said Patrice. "You're here because you're a smart boy, and you know that Sonny's gonna lose to me."

"Maybe," Vinnie said.

"There's no maybes," Patrice countered swiftly. "I have my hand in fires that would melt your fingers."

Vinnie didn't doubt it, although lately he'd been feeling the need for asbestos gloves himself.

"What are you offering?" Vinnie asked, settling deeper into his role as the right-hand man for sale.

"What did Sonny pay you?"

Vinnie finished his drink. "More than I need."

"I'll pay you more than that."

"What do you want me to do?"

"We're gonna hit Sonny the morning of his wedding at 7 o'clock. I need you to smuggle in some hardware to Scullisi and give him a layout of the place."

Vinnie lowered his eyes, mind racing. So Sonny's paranoia wasn't just some fantasy. Only Pat-the-Cat would have the nerve to ice Sonny on his wedding day.

"I'll take care of it, Don Patrice," he pledged, feeling a familiar sense of foreboding as the lie became unretractable.

Patrice watched him for a second, then said, "'Don Patrice.' Those are easy words to say. I wonder if you realize their importance."

Vinnie hesitated, staring at his empty glass. "I do," he responded.

Patrice leaned closer, eyes brightly gleaming. "Do you?" He sat back, lips twitching into a smile. "We'll see. You understand I have to be careful. I need to be sure of you. I'll send a car around to your mother's place tonight, around 7:30. We'll talk about your place in my organization."

Vinnie didn't like the sound of this. Patrice had swallowed the bait, hadn't he? What was this all about?

"Uh, I'm supposed to go back to A.C. tonight," Vinnie prevaricated. "Sonny's expecting me."

Patrice's smile widened. "Sonny can wait."

\-----

Vinnie found a pay phone a discreet distance from the bar and rang Uncle Mike, who conference-called him to Frank. At the abrupt, "Speak to me," he said, "I have a meet with Patrice. He's sending a car for me."

There was a pause. Vinnie glanced around one last time to make sure he hadn't been tailed.

"I don't think I like this," Frank began. _You and me both_, thought Vinnie. "Did he buy your story?"

"I think he must've. Listen, Frank, he's planning to hit Sonny the day of his wedding. I agreed to help him. He wouldn't have told me about that if he thought I was still Sonny's man."

"Maybe." Frank didn't sound convinced. "So why the meet?"

"He said he wants to discuss 'my place in his organization.'"

"Somehow I doubt he's gonna show you around and let you choose your office space. Watch your back, Vince. Patrice doesn't trust anyone."

"Yeah, okay," agreed Vinnie, hanging up. _Thanks for the vote of confidence, McPike_, he thought as he headed for his car.

\-----

The limo Pat sent took him into Manhattan and up Fifth Avenue to a large, ornate apartment building just above 67th Street. The driver opened the door for him and the doorman showed him inside, leading him to the private elevator in the back. There were only two buttons, so Vinnie pressed "up" and moments later found himself staring at a huge mirror across a marble entrance way. He stepped out of the elevator and a tall, beefy man in a black suit approached him. Vinnie sized him up as a henchman-cum-butler and handed over his coat. He allowed himself to be frisked, dismayed but not surprised when his gun was confiscated, then Patrice's hired help led him through the penthouse. Vinnie looked around at the gilt moldings, romanesque columns, pristine antique furniture, too overwhelmed by the abundance of decoration to be impressed. He did notice, however, the presence of mirrors in each room.

He was shown to the study, a room so unexpectedly different from the others that he paused to take it in. It was cozy, painted a rich forest green, furnished with dark mahogany bookcases, leather wing-back chairs, and a large desk. Small, fine, abstract lithographs in glass frames dotted the walls. If he was walking into a trap, it couldn't have been a more comfortable one, he thought drily as all his self-preservation instincts went into overdrive.

Paul Patrice was sitting in one of the chairs, toying with his ring.

"Vincenzo," he greeted. "Have a seat."

Now that Vinnie was alone with Pat-the-Cat in his snug little lair, he felt more vulnerable than all the times he'd faced Pat surrounded by armed-to-the-teeth goons. Curiosity and anxiety competing for his senses, he sat down in the other chair, which was positioned so close to Patrice's that their knees almost bumped. A high, round table had been set up between them. Patrice poured two glasses of wine.

"This is some apartment, Mr. Patrice," Vinnie remarked, trying to sound in awe of all the luxury. Patrice liked to have his ego fed, and his habitat was nothing if not a reflection of its master -- tasteless chic dressed up to look high class, in Vinnie's opinion.

Patrice handed him a glass, his eyes lingering on Vinnie. "I like beautiful things," he said. He sat back and took a sip of wine. "I like to have a comfortable home," he continued. "I like to have an easy mind, not worrying about who's planning to stab me in the back."

Vinnie watched him warily and drank his wine. The conversation was not off to an auspicious start. "You don't need to worry on my account."

Patrice set his glass on the table and turned it around, watching the light glint off the crystal surface.

"I want to trust you, Vinnie," he said, meeting Vinnie's gaze. "I need to be certain of your loyalty."

Ah, so the evening was to be a test -- he should have known. Frank was right about Patrice not trusting anybody. Nevertheless, Vinnie felt sure he could talk his way through this. He'd won Sonny over, surely he could win Patrice over.

"I agreed to help you hit Sonny," he pointed out.

"That's not enough," replied Patrice quickly. He smiled self-deprecatingly. "I have a suspicious nature. Hey, it comes with the territory. I'll be honest with you -- I don't trust you. You rose from ex-con to Sonny's right-hand in just a few months. Sid tells me how close you and Sonny are. My suspicious nature tells me maybe you only agreed to help me so you can run back to Sonny and tell him my plans."

Pat was smiling, but it was a cold, lethal smile, not meant to soften the threat of the words. Vinnie felt his palms get sweaty and set the wine glass aside.

"That's some suspicious nature," he joked.

Patrice sat back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. He kept his eyes on Vinnie for a very long minute, seemingly assessing his latest recruit. Vinnie did not shrink from his gaze, although inside he was beginning to panic. Pat's 'suspicious nature' smacked uncomfortably close to the truth. Winning him over wasn't going to be the relative picnic he'd had with Sonny. While Patrice seemed lost in contemplation, Vinnie decided upon his strategy: flattering Pat's ego, refining his performance as Sonny Steelgrave's Judas, and bluffing his way past any curve-balls Pat might throw.

"Let's have some dinner," Patrice said suddenly, getting up and pressing a buzzer set into the desk.

Sure didn't take long for those curve-balls to start coming.

"No thanks," said Vinnie, eyes on the door. "Not if it's going to be my last meal."

Pat settled into the chair again. "Last meal?" he asked with a laugh.

"Maybe I have a suspicious nature, too."

Any response Pat might have made was cut off by the arrival of the food. The butling henchman (did Patrice only have one houseservant? wondered Vinnie) brought in the tray and served. It was a simple meal: veal in a light sauce, sauteed vegetables, freshly baked bread, and it smelled so wonderful Vinnie was tempted. But he was still suspicious enough to resist. Patrice commenced eating. After a few minutes, when Vinnie still had not touched his food, Patrice looked up, smirking.

"Vinnie, if I was going to kill you, I wouldn't go to the trouble of poisoning you. I'd shoot your brains out, and I wouldn't do it all over my own study, especially not when I'm wearing white."

Perfectly true, Vinnie reasoned, and besides, the aroma was driving him crazy. He picked up his knife and fork and started in on the veal. Patrice kept the dinner conversation to a minimum, giving Vinnie time to think. Pat didn't trust him yet, and intended to test him somehow -- that much he knew. All he could do was take his cues from Pat, and respond accordingly. But he wished he didn't have this gnawing feeling that Pat had a hidden agenda which had nothing to do with the hit.

After the meal the goon returned to clear the table and Patrice poured two glasses of after-dinner wine.

"What does your suspicious nature say now?" asked Vinnie.

Pat settled back in his chair, crossed his legs and took a sip of wine.

"I guess I wonder why you'd leave Sonny," he said.

Vinnie gave a little shrug. "My ambitions and his no longer coincide. This marriage is changing him. I see Aldo Baglia moving in and me moving out."

Something flashed in Patrice's eyes, too fast for Vinnie to identify. Pat leaned forward. "And Teresa?"

Vinnie didn't immediately respond, not knowing what Patrice meant. At last he decided Pat must be asking his opinion of her. Was Pat-the-Cat planning to pounce on her himself after assassinating her fiance, Vinnie wondered, disgusted by the thought.

"I think Teresa really loves Sonny. I don't know how well she'll handle his death," Vinnie said.

"She'll get over it," observed Pat darkly. "The Baglia family understands politics. Tell me, what do you know of politics?"

Politics?! What in the hell? Was Pat just gonna shoot the breeze all night or get to the point? Vinnie grew impatient. He sat forward, meeting Patrice's eyes calmly, determined to pass this test.

"What can I do to prove myself to you, Don Patrice?"

Pat was silent for a moment. He stared at Vinnie, sizing him up.

"A loyal man must be more than a yes-man, Vincenzo. More than a slob off the street who can pull a trigger. A loyal man is a friend, a blood-brother, and, sometimes, more than that. You get my meaning?"

Vinnie didn't get his meaning. At least, not entirely. "You're saying whacking Sonny isn't enough for me to earn your trust. What is enough?"

Patrice did not reply. He sat still, eyes never leaving Vinnie. Vinnie remained calm, despite his growing apprehension. He couldn't predict Pat's next move. If the man didn't trust him, why was he here? After an incredibly long ten seconds, Pat rose.

"Let me show you around the place," he offered. Vinnie followed him from the study, instantly on guard. Had he passed the test? Somehow he didn't think so. In fact, he had the impression the test hadn't even begun yet.

Patrice led him through one richly-appointed room after another, and Vinnie made suitable compliments, the only sincere one being about the spectacular view of Central Park. They entered the master bedroom and Patrice stopped, standing in the center of the room. Vinnie looked around at the cream and beige decor, trying to think of another compliment, when he caught sight of Patrice's intent stare. Vinnie glanced around again, noticing that Patrice had closed the door behind him. Something about the way Patrice was watching him told him the tour was over.

"Uh, I don't think I understand--" he began.

"Of course you understand," Patrice cut in. "You're a smart boy, Vincenzo. And you've been to prison..."

Vinnie started to pray that Patrice wasn't serious. "Then maybe you don't understand--"

Patrice smiled coldly. "I understand what I have to. And what you should understand is that I'm a man who takes what he wants. At the moment, I want you. You do this for me, I'll know I have a loyal man."

Vinnie's mind reeled. This was the test?! He kicked himself for not seeing it sooner. He scrambled to find a tactful way to refuse without losing whatever ground he'd already won.

"I thought you said you didn't just want a yes-man, Mr. Patrice."

Pat narrowed his eyes, his lips locked in that icy smile. "A smart man knows when to say yes. This is one of those times."

"I can say no?"

Pat paced around the room in a wide circle with Vinnie at its center. "You should think about it before you refuse," he advised.

Vinnie gestured helplessly. "There's gotta be some other way I can prove myself to you."

"No other way that I'm interested in."

Vinnie knew he was losing ground, but he had to resist. Pat's idea of 'proving oneself' certainly didn't match his own.

"So you're interested in a man who'll just lie down for you?" he asked indignantly. "Mr. Patrice, not to be disrespectful, but if that's all you want from me, then I'm afraid you're underestimating my value. Whores are a dime a dozen."

Unruffled, Patrice stopped pacing and stood a few feet away from Vinnie. The dangerous gleam in his eyes and his nasty smirk did nothing to ease Vinnie's tension. "What's the matter, Vinnie?" he asked. "Saving yourself for Sonny? You might have a long wait. Especially since he's gonna be dead in a couple of weeks."

Icicles lanced through Vinnie's throat and his heart stopped beating for a split second. How in the hell could Pat-the-Cat Patrice know what even Sonny didn't know? If it had been a guess, it had been a damned lucky one. Frantic, Vinnie tried to see himself as Pat must -- did he really project his feelings for Sonny so blatantly? And if so, how come Sonny never seemed to notice?

Patrice watched him, bemused, then zeroed in for the kill. "I thought you might be leaving Sonny because of Teresa," he explained. "I thought I could offer you some of what you crave. Perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps you only have eyes for Sonny. In which case, I'm back to my original suspicion: that you'd do anything to save Sonny, including come play these little games with me. Dangerous games, Vincenzo. Even lethal."

"No, no," Vinnie said hurriedly, still trying to take in all of what Pat had said. In one swoop, Pat had provided him with an excuse for deserting Steelgrave -- sexual jealousy of Teresa -- as well as making it clear that, as far as Pat was concerned, there was no way out of this. Vinnie thought through his options, still unnerved by the sudden introduction of Sonny into the conversation. He could make a break for it. He was confident he could take on Pat and win, even unarmed. The manservant might be riskier, but he still favored his odds. But running out meant the end of any trust Patrice might have had in him and a whole series of repercussions, not least of which was Sonny's anger and McPike's chastisement for blowing his chance to get close to Patrice.

Or he could keep trying to reason with Pat, even though seeing reason seemed not be the Cat's forte. Leaving Sonny because of unrequited lust was still no excuse to crawl into Patrice's bed -- but he doubted Patrice would see it that way. Patrice was determined and erecting verbal barriers would only make him impatient. An impatient Patrice wouldn't be so civil; at least Pat was giving him the illusion of a choice.

Final option: he could sleep with Patrice. The idea had no appeal to him, but it wouldn't be the end of the world. He'd had to endure such unwelcome advances in prison, from men much less polite than Patrice. Much less dangerous, though, too.

"It's just that this is so ... unexpected," he said, conceding, uncomfortable with his choice.

Patrice grinned triumphantly and stepped closer. "I can be very generous, Vincenzo," he assured him. "I want to be generous with you. But you know what they say: you must give in order to receive."

"What do you want me to give?" Vinnie asked warily, dreading the answer.

"Take your shirt off and sit on the bed."

Patrice moved away, sitting down in an intricately carved round-back chair and crossing his legs.

"What are you going to do?"

"First things first," responded Patrice, a don't-try-to-stall warning look in his eyes. "I'm not gonna hurt you, Vinnie. Unless you're into that sort of thing," he added, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

"No, I'm not," Vinnie stated firmly. He hesitated, then unenthusiastically removed his jacket, tie and shirt and dropped them on the floor. He paused, caught Patrice's look of angry impatience, and reluctantly took off his undershirt and tossed it with the other clothes. He sat down at the foot of the huge bed, averting his eyes from Patrice's admiring inspection.

"We're off to a good start," Pat announced, pleased. "We're going to have sex, you realize that."

Vinnie folded his arms over his chest and nodded resignedly.

Patrice smiled indulgently. "So what gets you hard, Vinnie?" he asked, almost conversationally. "What makes you happy? Some guys like to watch porno videos. I've got an endless selection. Some guys like to read dirty magazines. I've got those, too. Some guys like to dress up like Cardinal O'Connor or Marilyn Monroe. I can find something for you to wear. You name it, Vinnie. As I said, I can be generous."

Vinnie shivered. He could probably endure this -- just -- to get out of this place alive, but Patrice expected him to enjoy it, too? Tough luck for Patrice. Still, he reflected, so far Pat-the-Cat was being polite. If he couldn't conceal his distaste Pat's politeness might come to an abrupt end.

Pat rose from the chair and began to undress carefully and methodically. He hung up his jacket neatly, placed his watch and jeweled cufflinks in an ivory box on the chest of drawers, and draped his tie over the chair back.

"Shy boy, eh?" he said, unbuttoning his shirt. He paused and gave Vinnie a calculating glare. "Sonny gets you hard, though," he stated confidently. Vinnie blushed. "All right, if you want to think of Sonny, go ahead. Whatever it takes, because this is going to happen."

Vinnie looked away. The mention of Sonny was playing hell with his nerves. Damn it, Patrice was right. Sonny made him hard. Sonny inspired a million guilty fantasies never allowed to become reality. And what bothered him the most: Sonny never guessed, yet Patrice knew.

Pat removed his shirt and left it on the chair, and slipped out of his shoes. In undershirt, white trousers, and socks, he approached the bed. Broad-shouldered, fair-skinned, short and stocky, he wasn't a physically unattractive man, Vinnie noted. It was his personality that was repugnant.

Patrice stood between Vinnie's knees and took his chin in his fingers. "You think Sonny would be as nice as this? Don't bet on it." He gave a short laugh. "I out-class Sonny in every way and you know it. That's why you came to me." Vinnie stared up at him defiantly, annoyed by Pat's boasting. Patrice ran a finger over Vinnie's lips. "You're a nice-looking boy, Terranova. Sonny doesn't know what he's losing." He flicked a stray lock of hair from Vinnie's forehead. "I don't want you to be so nervous. You've done this before." He let his fingers fall, then grabbed Vinnie's shoulders and kissed him roughly. Vinnie resolved not to respond, but that resolve evaporated as Pat's tongue filled his mouth.

Patrice released him and stepped back, pulling himself out of his undershirt. "Get naked," he commanded, voice quiet but harsh. Vinnie swallowed his disgust and reluctantly complied as Pat watched.

He sat down on the bed again, protectively folding his hands over his lap. Okay, no turning back now. All he had to do was get through it, then get out. Earn Pat's trust, then by God bring the son-of-a-bitch down, with pleasure. But he wished to hell Patrice hadn't insinuated Sonny into his thoughts like this. He wanted Sonny so badly, and Patrice had given his permission to fantasize about Sonny. Now he couldn't get the idea of making love to Sonny out of his head, despite the fact that this was neither the time nor place for fantasies about Sonny Steelgrave.

Patrice stripped down to his undershorts, which, though loose and baggy, did not conceal his erection. Patrice stood between Vinnie's knees again, nudging them further apart. He knelt down, hands resting on Vinnie's thighs. He sent Vinnie a malicious, teasing glance and caressed his inner thighs. He settled in closer, licking his lips. Vinnie stared in wonderment. Was Paul Patrice going to give him a blow job? Definitely not the 'seduction' he had envisioned. Patrice said he could be generous, but could he really be that generous? Vinnie shifted restlessly, somehow doubting it.

Patrice's caresses were undeniably sensuous and expertly executed, but Vinnie had no desire to be lulled by them. He could not ignore how repulsed he was by Patrice, although he tried to ignore how stimulating Patrice's hands were as they slid towards his cock. He closed his eyes. Maybe he could endure a blow job -- just an anonymous mouth, right? -- especially if he could forget, momentarily, it was Pat-the-Cat. If he could pretend it was Sonny. Oh yes, he could imagine Sonny there, squatting between his legs, coaxing his cock to life, bending forward to lick it... Vinnie's eyes popped open. He was hard now, and Patrice was stepping out of his undershorts.

"Move back," he said. Vinnie shut his eyes and moved back. He waited. He felt a breath on his neck, then a hand between his legs, rubbing his balls, traveling further... Vinnie inwardly cursed himself. _A blow job! Yeah, right. When hell freezes over, perhaps_. He should have known that Patrice's idea of generosity would be stopping short of raping him outright. No, Patrice wanted him hard and horny before he took what he wanted.

Patrice was probably also being generous by lubricating him first -- thank heaven for small mercies. Vinnie kept his eyes shut, now just eager to get this ordeal over with, and having no wish to see Patrice delight in his mastery.

Patrice pushed his legs apart and planted himself between them, positioning with his hands. Aside from the kiss, he had not manhandled Vinnie or been rough. And now, with his fingers prying into Vinnie's ass, readying him for ingress, Vinnie could almost pretend it was Sonny. Suddenly all the barriers collapsed and all the wet dreams, all the aching, all the love he had for Sonny inundated him. Even as he held the other man and welcomed penetration, he could only think of Sonny. It was as if Paul Patrice were a million miles away, had never existed. Patrice thrust into him, but it was Sonny's cock inside him. Sonny who was fucking him wildly, making love to him. Sonny's chest that was splattered with his semen as he came, rocking and moaning, satiated. Sonny who exploded inside him, collapsed, withdrew, and rolled away, panting.

It was Patrice who said, "Get dressed, Vincenzo. Time for you to go."

\-----

The limo was waiting downstairs. Vinnie checked his watch as he got inside. It would be after midnight by the time he reached Brooklyn, and almost 4 a.m. before he'd get to Atlantic City. The car headed south and Vinnie watched the lights of Fifth Avenue flick past. He felt tired, drained, and wasn't ready to think about the last three hours. The back of Pat-the-Cat's limo was the last place on earth he wanted to be right now but refusing the ride wouldn't have looked right. What was he gonna do? Take the subway?

He would have to call the Lifeguard. They probably thought he was dead by now. They'd be relieved to know he'd passed Patrice's test. He'd proven his loyalty. Loyalty. Yeah, right. Just another word for obedience in Patrice's vocabulary. He couldn't wait to see Patrice's downfall, couldn't wait to see the OCB slap the cuffs on Pat's wrists and haul him away to Attica.

Reporting in to OCB wasn't a problem. The problem was he had to report in to Sonny as well. Damn Sonny for his bright idea of sending him to Patrice! And of course he couldn't tell Sonny the truth, couldn't tell him how Patrice had fucked him and how he'd enjoyed it by imagining it was Sonny instead. Yeah, just what Sonny would want to hear, Vinnie thought bitterly. It would serve him right for playing these games, finding out his right-hand man wanted to screw his brains out.

He stared out the window, his mind rushing back to the moment when Patrice had penetrated him. Suddenly the air in the car seemed to stagnate and he felt dizzy. He pounded on the partition.

"Stop the car! Pull over!"

The driver pulled over to the curb in front of Rockefeller Center and Vinnie opened the door. Before he had time to take a deep breath he was doubled over and retching all over the sidewalk. Passersby stepped wide of him, staring in callous disapproval. Vinnie filled his lungs with air, wiped his mouth with a handkerchief, and sat back inside the limo.

"Must've been the rich food," he said, catching the driver's look in the rear-view mirror. The driver moved on.

_Lame excuse, Terranova_, he thought. The driver might not have bought it, might report back to Pat-the-Cat. Oh, fuck it, he didn't care. He'd done his service for Patrice, Patrice had to trust him, right? It didn't sound very convincing all of a sudden, but he blocked out any doubts. No, Patrice had to trust him now. He'd let himself be fucked by Patrice and trust, at least, had to be his reward.

He looked out the window again. He didn't want to think about this anymore. He just wanted to get back to A.C., bed, and the inevitable return of those tantalizing dreams about the man whose life he was about to destroy.

Vinnie sank into the seat, eyes shut, still feeling nauseous. Vinnie Terranova, master of deception, prince of lies, king of the whores.

\-----

Back at the Fifth Avenue penthouse, Paul Patrice sat in bed, cleansed, content, satisfied. He reached for his bedside phone, the one he knew wasn't tapped, and dialed the number of a pay phone he knew would be manned. A few moments later the other party answered.

"Listen, Aldo," he said, smoothing the sheet over his legs. "After we hit Sonny I want you to kill Terranova. I despise a betrayer."

(the end)


End file.
